Tara sounded as though she’d been crying.
“Anna, the green dress is still here. Someone paid for it, but she hasn’t collected it yet. I’m refunding her.”
“Good. What about everything else?”
She hesitated.
“Five items have already been picked up.”
My chest tightened.
“How much did you get?”
“Three hundred and ten dollars.”
I closed my eyes.
Those five pieces had originally cost me $640.
Then Tara said something strange.
“I haven’t given Nick any of the money yet.”
I opened my eyes.
“Why would you give Nick money?”
Silence.
“Tara?”
Her breathing became uneven.
“Because he told me we were supposed to divide it.”
I gripped the edge of the mattress.
“Divide what?”
“The money from your clothes.”
I felt my stomach turn.
Then she explained.
Nick had contacted her on Thursday and said I wanted to clear out my maternity wardrobe before the baby arrived.
He claimed I’d already kept everything I needed.
On Saturday morning, while I was at work, he loaded my belongings into two laundry baskets and delivered them to her apartment.
At first, Tara believed him.
But then she noticed the unopened nursing pajamas.
And the green dress.
The same dress she had helped me choose for photographs scheduled later that month.
She knew I hadn’t worn it yet.
“You asked him about that?” I said.
“Yes.”
“What did he tell you?”
Her voice dropped.
“He told me not to contact you. He said he’d handle you.”
I sat perfectly still.
“And you continued selling my clothes ?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She started crying.
“I needed the money. And he was my brother. I wanted to believe him.”
“But you knew something wasn’t right.”
“Yes.”
For once, there was no excuse left.
I told her to send me every message Nick had written.
Within minutes, screenshots started arriving.
There were photographs of my clothes inside Tara’s apartment.
Copies of the Marketplace listings.
Payment confirmations.
And a conversation that changed everything.
Nick had written:
*Sell the expensive things first.*
Then:
*She won’t be using most of that stuff much longer.*
And finally:
*Don’t contact Anna. I’ll deal with her.*
Tara had asked why he needed his share so urgently.
Nick’s answer was short.
*Card payment. Need it by Monday.*
I stared at those words.
A card payment?
What card payment?
We had a shared credit card, and I knew exactly how much was owed on it.
What debt was my husband hiding?
Elaine called again around noon.
“Tara has agreed to record a full explanation of what happened. Would you like a copy?”
“Yes.”
“She’s also packing everything that’s left.”
I thanked her.
Then Elaine asked for my clothessizes.
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because you need things you can wear immediately.”
“Elaine, you don’t have to buy anything.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’m asking whether you’ll let me.”
That question broke something inside me.
For nearly twenty-four hours, I’d been treated as unreasonable for expecting control over my own belongings.
Now my mother-in-law was asking permission before buying me a simple pair of pants.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Thank you.”
At four that afternoon, Nick returned carrying snacks for another football game.
He walked into the living room and looked at me.
“Are you feeling calmer?”
“Your parents are coming.”
He stopped.
“You called my mother?”
“Yes.”
“Anna, this is between you and me.”
“You involved your sister before you even spoke to me.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Elaine stood on the porch beside her husband, Frank.
Each carried a large shopping bag.
A third sat between their feet.
Nick looked from one bag to the next.
“Mom, what did you do?”
Elaine met his eyes.
“First, we’re returning Anna’s belongings.”
